Picture Perfect
by Tashasaphi
Summary: Sonfic chaptered sequel to Cool. Sometimes things in our past won't stay quiet. Sometimes, despite ourselves, we don't want them to. HPDM, HPGW, DMO Slash. Warnings for language and later sexual situations.


Picture Perfect  
by Tashasaphi  
A Songfic Sequel to 'Cool'

Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 Swearing,references to sex, slash, het  
Fandom: Harry Potter  
Pairing(s): HP/DM, HP/GW, DM/O  
AOB: Songfic- Picture Perfect by Nelly Furtado. The first 3 chapters are quite old, but it get's newer as you go along :)  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'Picture Perfect' the song, Nelly Furtado, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter or any thing in the Potterverse. I live in a room in a rented house full of books and unicorn plushies with a pencil and a keyboard. I own nothing else. Sue me, and that's all you'll get.

WARNING:

There is A LOT of French in this story, despite me speaking hardly any. It's either pretty obvious, basically explained by the characters, or can be found in a glossary at the end.

There's also some Engrish, for lack of a better word. One of the characters speaks very poor English, or English with a very strong French accent. I have made the way he speaks somewhat phonetic. If you can decipher Fleur Delacour or Hagrid, you can do this, kay?

'Ow!'

'Oh stop fussing,' Draco grumbled, pushing blonde sweat dampened tendrils of spun gossamer sunlight out of his flushed face. 'If you're going to insist on bloody well scampering off like an anally retentive bat out of hell every time this happens, you can bloody well put up with-'

'Draco, stop it, you're going to make it worse.' Draco yanked hard and Harry hissed. He scowled. Draco scowled right back.

'Malfoy,' he grumbled. 'I'm tutoring you sodding potions. Mal-foy.'

'Tutoring, my arse-gah!' Harry spluttered. 'I'll do it, just stop!' Malfoy frowned.

'No... I think I've almost got it.'

'Got it? You're bloody going to wrench it off!'

'Oh do stop writhing,' Malfoy grumbled. 'You look like a disgruntled and possibly constipated beetle of some description.'

'Do you have to continually associate me with rectally defective undesirable animals?' Harry groaned, batting Malfoy's hand away. Malfoy sat back on his heels, staring up at Harry as he leant against the high mattress of the bed. Looking from above, Harry could appreciate the way emotions, thoughts, ideas, notions and feelings flowed across the alabaster of his face like water, the sediment of an expression settling, before being carried away by the force of the bubbling stream of Malfoy spirit. Currently a smear of a crinkle had caught up in the nose as Malfoy surveyed him with eyes that reflected only moonlight and starlight and glows otherworldly. There was curiosity twinkling like a grain of gold, and stubbornness like a sudden wash of iron.

'Yes,' Malfoy replied tersely. 'Yes I do. If you don't like it, you can either ignore it or you can naff off somewhere where you don't have to hear it.'

'No need to get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy,' Harry purred back, smirking. 'I just find it kind of funny that you keep making these associations when it's you,' he paused, his voice becoming lower and slower, 'who lies back and takes it.' And as if a cloud of dust had swirled into the water, Malfoy's cheeks became speckled with a very irritable blush. He stood up like a shot, leaning over Harry, glaring.

'You,' he growled, eyes locked on Harry's, 'are a rapist.' And with that revelation, Draco grabbed Harry's stuck fly and yanked it the rest of the way down.

Harry, despite the practicality of this, screamed like a banshee. A sissy banshee. With a really hideous Marks and Sparks handbag. And atrocious knock off Adidas trainers. And a bottle of Tesco's Smartprice Gin. And no Lemon. And no tumbler.

'Malfoy, you prat of all prats!' Harry finally gasped. Malfoy himself was humming gently, a smug look on his face as he leaned over his dressing table (Harry noted the perfect angle his slender body made, polo shirt clinging to all the flattering places.), adjusting his hair. Malfoy shot him a look over his shoulder, snorted with mirth, and got back on with his preening. Harry carefully rezipped himself up, this time avoiding certain parts of his anatomy that he had no intention of ever getting caught anywhere again, and shrugged on his robes.

'You actually are a git, aren't you?' he grumbled. Draco cocked and eyebrow.

'Mmm,' he agreed. 'Complete and utter "git".' He frowned a little. 'I prefer the term "insufferable bastard" though.' He grinned. 'Blaise uses that one frequently. I tied his owl's legs together last time.'

'That's cruel!'

'Yeah...' Draco mused. 'It's not as if I used piano wire or anything though.'

'Still cruel,' Harry pouted, walking over to his Potions notes. Yeah, they were better now than they were, but not so much better that the hour of private tutoring every week showed. Draco slumped heavily into the black armchair next to the low table where Harry's notes were spread. He sat up with a heavy sigh, eyeing the clock. He leant his elbows on his knees and allowed his body to sag a little. Harry watched as Draco riffled through the notes with long, deft fingers.

'Did you want to go over the Skele-grow Potion again?' he asked, cocking an eyebrow and eyeing Harry. 'We still have ten minutes.' Harry looked at the hideous scrawl of his notes, up at Draco, back his notes, and whimpered. His misery was interrupted by a snort. He looked back at Draco, who was leaning back in his chair, snickering softly. Harry glowered, shuffling his papers into a sort of aligned formation.

'The look on your face!' Draco giggled, getting up and patting Harry on the head. 'Gods, Potter, there's no need to look so mortified! As if I have the energy to drill the intricacies of growing bones into your skull after... that.' Harry watched as Draco pushed his hair back, a more honest flush dusting his cheeks with rose petal pink. He eyed Harry almost cautiously, before smiling a little. Harry's widened, confused. Malfoy quickly turned away, striding across his room towards the bathroom.

'Y-your face,' he laughed, almost forced to break a sudden string of tension that had snaked unsettlingly through the air. 'A picture.' The door of the bathroom shut. Harry got up, shoving his books into his satchel.

'Yeah,' he mumbled. 'And yours is picture perfect...'

--Picture perfect a life that you saw in a magazine  
Or maybe a travelling book--

'Harry? Harry wake up.'

'Nyyyyuuuuuhhhh...'

'You're making death noises, Harry. Stop it, or I'll open the curtains.'

'No!' Harry cried, sitting bolt upright, before falling back with a whimpering flop. 'Why did you wake me, Ginny?' Ginny, who was up, just about, and wandering in her dressing gown shot him a look.

'You were dreaming,' she muttered. 'And making faces. And noises.' She turned to face him, hairbrush in hand. 'Just like you've been doing nearly every night for god knows how long.' She sighed a little, crawling onto the bed. Harry had sat up by now, but he was looking away. He drew his knees up to his chin, frowning. Ginny patted him on the head.

'I worry. Last time you had dreams...'

'I'm fine.'

'You sure?'

'Uh-huh.'

'My mum,' Ginny began, before going back to the vanity to brush her hair. 'She met this dream specialist when she went on that walking holiday with dad last year. She says he's really thorough. Maybe-'

'I don't need some quack picking through my head,' Harry snapped, getting out of bed and stomping to the wardrobe. Ginny froze, watching him in the mirror, frowning. Harry threw open the door to his side before leaning on the shelves and sighing.

'It's just...'

'It's just what?' Ginny asked gently, turning around. 'We're friends aren't we? Friends tell each other things.'

'I know...'

'We're going to get married, Harry,' Ginny said softly. Harry forced himself not to involuntarily tense up. It would go away. By noon he would be back to his normal self. Ginny tapped her feet against he carpet.

'If there was ever a time for secrets to come out, Harry, it's now.' She brushed downy red hair from her eyes. 'I don't want a life full of secrets and lies and not knowing anything.' Her voice had gotten stronger. Harry sighed, watching a long legged spider clamber over the jumper he had been planning on wearing. Hmph.

'A few memories are haunting me,' Harry said gently. He could almost hear Ginny mouthing the 'O'. She didn't ask about Voldemort. It was one of her unwritten rules. It narked Harry a little, almost as if she didn't think he were strong enough to deal with it. However, he remembered the terrified girl in the Chamber of Secrets, and he knew that she probably wasn't strong enough to deal with it either. A pang of guilt hit him. He was using this fact to his advantage. He hadn't had a dream about Voldemort since March. However, since July, he'd been having vivid, palpable, viciously tempting flashbacks of Seventh year and beyond, and a blonde he vowed to forget once and for all. He grabbed a bundle of clothes and bustled into the bathroom. Feh. He had Quidditch training this afternoon. And... since the clock told him it was 11:30, he probably ought to get a move on.

--Wanted to get on that plane and fly away--

He sat in the kitchen, dressed in jeans, t-shirt and jumper, nursing a cup of tea. Ginny was going through her mail, pencil tucked behind her ear. Harry could feel his heart hammering with guilt. He looked up at her when she wasn't looking, frowned and looked away.

She WAS beautiful.

She WAS clever.

She DID love him to pieces.

So WHY did he feel so torn?

Harry grumbled, glugging some of his tea. The first flashback of the night had been obscene. Their third anniversary. Somehow Draco's hands had managed to get tied to the headboard. Much 'fun' had ensued. Harry blushed a little, drinking more tea, hurriedly. The second... oh god it had been Christmas... their third year together...

'I can't believe you did it,' Harry chuckled. 'I really thought you'd chicken out.'

'And give up my Christmas morning sex?' Draco pouted, and Harry choked on his tea. 'You really do underestimate your skills, Harry.'

It HAD been good sex. Really good sex. Mind blowing in its creative use of tinsel. Harry mused that he really enjoyed tying people up, and perhaps it wasn't healthy, and then remembered the distinct lack of tying up in his relationship with Ginny. She was the aggressor. Was he really alright with that? The clock on the tiny wooden mantle chimed gently, soothingly in the background. Ginny got up from her seat to look for a document or something, before continuing with her writing. Harry stared numbly at the table, thinking of the third flashback dream. Seventh Year. His potions marks had slipped atrociously. The top potions student had been drafted in to help him out. Three weeks in, temptation had numbed his mind and the next thing he knew he was over a slender, naked body, hands white knuckled to the bed sheets as he emptied himself and all of his lust into the prone figure. Four weeks on, not a lot had changed, except, at that moment, when Malfoy had flushed and turned from him, with that soft, secret smile and that tiny glint of teeth, he had known that something bigger than a few raging hormones was at work here. And he knew Malfoy felt it just as strongly as he did.

'Ten past twelve,' Ginny reminded him, scribbling something out. Harry grumbled, swallowing the last mouthful of his tea and plonking his cup in the sink.

'I'll be off then,' he said, stifling a yawn. Ginny smiled up at him.

'Have a good one,' she called as he walked to the kitchen door, stamping into a pair of beaten up trainers and swinging his kit bag over his shoulder.

'Will do,' Harry called back, and the door clicked shut. The cottage garden was full of insects and flowers, despite it being early September, and the first blackberries were just coming into gelatinous purple fullness on the top of the hedgerow that lined the fence. The last of the swallows were darting and diving, their second set of chicks beginning to fledge clumsily overhead. The tips of the trees were turning gold, and the wind bit with an edge of winter as the sun beat down, highlighting every leaf and berry and petal that scampered across the path playfully when the wind gusted from the west. The gate had a squeak, and Harry drolly reminded himself that he probably ought to oil it. A local Muggle farmer wandered past with his daughter, and gave him a cheery wave. Harry nodded, smiling a little awkwardly. He was heading for a portkey. It seemed almost wrong to be smiling and waving at Muggles when you are about to break the laws of physics.

There was a smell of smoke on the breeze.

--Cause you are a rock star deep down inside--

Harry sniffed the air. Perhaps the farmer was burning off his muck heap. No... it smelt lighter than that. More clingy. More... tobacco like.

Harry crinkled his nose. Everyone around here smoked pipes or not at all. This was expensive cigarettes. A horse nickered nearby, tossing it's head over a fence. Harry was about to pet it's nose when he spotted the flick of a wrist dislodging ash from the offending cigarette. The wrist was attached to a hand with a large, proud signet ring on the middle finger which almost looked out of place on such slender digits. But that flick spoke more than the confident 'M' emblazoned in silver. It spoke rage.

--You walk with a swagger, got nothin' to hide--

He was here. He had stepped out of the dream and he had come to Harry.

--Cigarette in your mouth, a cuff on your jeans--

And he was fucking livid.

--Your sideburns are perfect, you're perfect and lean--

Clad in fitted, long, flattering Levis, dusky in colour, an untucked white shirt, undone at bottom and top to match the slight pinch of his waist, revealing the full column of his throat and the beginnings of the soft planes of his chest. The sleeves, long, were rolled to the elbow with precision. One arm was folded across his chest, the other lurking nearby as a slow drag was taken from the cigarette. His hair was fluttering gently in the breeze, pushed back off his face but hanging soft and free around his ears and neck. His eyes were alight with some mysterious ghostly fire.

And he was leaning on the bonnet of a beast of a scarlet Lamborghini.

Holy. Shit.

There was a long silence as Draco surveyed him, aloof, untouchable, using a dream of an automobile as a mere perch, smoke drifting from thin-pressed lips in slender eddies and swirls. Harry felt his fingers twitching, wanting to fiddle with the fraying hems of a very unflattering heavy Weasley jumper.

'Um,' he managed, before giving up, feeling the hammer of his heartbeat drum against his ribs like an untamed beast, snarling and tearing at the air with huge, vicious claws.

Draco said nothing. He just carried on smoking and watching, almost unblinkingly. Harry was pinned under that Mercury intensity.

He had a horrible feeling that any moment his life would start flashing before his eyes.

He had an even worse feeling that it was going to be shockingly dull.

Well, except for the flashbacks of mindblowing sex, but he'd seen a lot of those recently, so they weren't going to be particularly original.

However, they would be quite interesting.

...And quite graphic too.

Oh god, he was getting hard.

Shit.

Draco cocked an eyebrow, obviously reading the torment on Harry's face, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette and sighing, smoke pouring out in a mushroom like puff before dissipating into the air. Somehow, this gave Harry the bottle to speak.

'Those things'll kill you, you know,' He called, leaning on the fence and patting the horse's nose. Draco snorted, dropping his cigarette butt, pressing the flat of smart shoe onto the smoking end. He eyed Harry with eyes that, despite a certain wrathful fire, were alarmingly dead.

'Really now,' he drawled, folding his arms and resettling on the bonnet of the truly fearsome car. 'And here I thought I was just enjoying the smell.' Harry frowned. Draco rolled his eyes, extracting his wand and flicking it irritably. He inhaled deeply, before breathing out a puff of dark sparkling gas, which dissipated into the air with a series of soft pops.

'Satisfied?' he asked coolly. Harry said nothing. 

--So you made an oil painting to immortalize  
All of the hope and vision in your eyes--

The horse perked up its ears at something far off, before nudging Harry's shoulder.

'Err...' Harry said, trying to fend of the daft beast that was now lapping at him like a deranged puppy. 'What are you doing here?' The look Draco pierced Harry with was pure ice. He looked away, and left Harry colder.

'Work,' he snapped.

'In Godric's Hollow?' Harry asked. Draco stood up.

'I was going to send you a letter,' he said. 'But I figured you'd Incendio that too.' Harry felt an invisible force slam a punch into his solar plexus.

'And if you remember,' Draco continued, trying not to smirk nastily at the look on Harry's face. 'I did say I'd stop in if I was in the country. And I am in the country. So here I am.'

'I-in a Lamborghini?' Harry spluttered, clearing his throat. 'If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were really "immersing" yourself in muggle culture, Malfoy.'

'I like sports cars,' Draco shrugged, sitting back down on the bonnet. 'They have a certain... je ne sais quoi.' Harry cocked an eyebrow. Draco ignored it entirely. Harry felt common and grubby. He looked down at his scuffed trainers and remembered the horse slobber on his shoulder and realised it wasn't too far from the truth.

'Besides, Apparation gives me static in my hair,' he admitted, rubbing his throat thoughtfully. 'Sports cars don't.'

'I'm sure the wind does some pretty evil things with it.'

'Don't be naive, Potter. Madame Coiffeur's products defy wind. Idiot boy.'

'Don't patronise me,' Harry snapped, pushing the horse's nose away and trudging towards the portkey station.

'Then don't behave like a total and utter twassock and tempt me,' Draco shot back. Harry glared. Draco snorted. Harry began to stomp away.

'Coward,' Draco hissed, and Harry froze.

--In your leisure coat and cowboy hat  
North American records and so much to bat for--

Harry was about to turn and scream abuse, but a young man had just bustled out of a news agents he knew to stock wizarding newspapers, armed with the latest edition of every English magazine, newspaper and periodical of the wizarding sort available.

' Je suis si désolé que je suis en retard! Je ne pourrais pas comprendre le caissier. Mon anglais est mauvais!'

'Enfant stupid,' Draco responded, eyeing Harry was a wry smile and the boy leant on his knees, panting a little. 'J'ai te payé pour les leçons particulières avec un professeur…'

'Pardonez-moi s'il vous plaît!' 1

'Say, Potter,' Draco called, and Harry started, forcing his face into a sullen frown. 'I did come to visit you, since your owl obviously couldn't navigate St Germain well enough to visit me,' the remorseful sparkle in Draco's eye twanged a guilty chord in Harry's heart. 'Why don't we head somewhere for lunch and catch up? You look like you could use a meal. Doesn't your fiancée feed you?'

'S-sorry,' Harry said quickly, ignoring the jibe at Ginny resolutely. 'I have to get to training. I have a port key scheduled for-'

'Oh, pity,' Draco said, cutting him off. He shrugged, smiling weakly. 'Such as is the schedule of the Warrior's star player. I should have expected it.' He sat on the door of the Lamborghini and swung his legs over onto the seat. 'Alair!'

'Don't-' Harry gasped, biting his tongue immediately. Draco looked up, and eyes met with sparks that even Harry's most loyal and Gryffindor heart could not deny.

'Don't what, Harry?' Draco asked slowly, gently, pleadingly. 'Tell me.' Harry felt his heart hammer.

'Don't…' he began, before frowning. 'Don't just give up.' Draco's eyes bugged. Had he less composure, he might have choked.

'I beg your pardon?' He blurted. What he wanted to add was "This, from the pious Harry Potter?!", but he saved that particular comment for a later, less fragile date. One that he was counting on happening before the wedding. Before him, Harry sighed, ruffling already tousled hair.

'What I mean to say,' he said, averting his eyes uncomfortably. 'Is that I'm free on Thursday afternoon.' He looked up at Draco, smiling a little. Draco would have done a little dance at this point, but he was playing the hurt, vengeful diva, and thought it might have spoiled the effect.

'Oh?' He managed, coyly. 'I'll have to check my diary.'

'Do it,' Harry responded coolly, and Draco felt a shiver dart up his spine.

'Right,' he responded. 'Alair, donne moi mon agenda.' 2 The boy rummaged for a second in a bag, before handing a fancy bound book to Draco, and a beautiful Owl feather quill.

'Thursday?' Draco called. Harry walked a little closer to the car, hands in his pockets.

'Thursday afternoon,' Harry corrected gently, watching Draco's face pinch at the challenge. 'I have a match in the morning. I should be free in the afternoon…'

'But you can't be sure,' Draco finished, snapping the diary shut and tossing it back to the flustered boy in the passenger's seat. Harry narrowed his eyes.

'It'll be finished by the afternoon,' he said firmly. 'After all, who's going to take the snitch from The-Boy-Slash-Man-Who-Delivered-Us-From-He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named?' Harry smirked a little when a soft smile of recollection passed over Draco's face. He leant his head on one hand, elbow on his thigh, eyes sparkling.

'Pride comes before a fall, Potter,' he said softly. The boy looked surprised.

'Eh? Potter? C'est ce Potter?'

'Ta guele,'3 Draco snapped, and he boy sunk into his seat, pouting hatefully. Draco rolled his eyes. 'You just can't get the staff…' Harry laughed a little.

'New assistant, Malfoy?' he called lightly. Draco frowned at him.

'Thursday afternoon,' he bit. Harry's face froze up. Draco watched this with a certain amount of concealed pleasure. 'Let's see… you play out of-'

'Coventry, this week,' he cut in, confidently. 'We're playing the Warwick Warlocks for the charity cup.'

'That'll be nice,' Draco mused. 'Wish I could have gotten tickets…' He shrugged. Harry rolled his eyes, and continued.

'There's a little café off the main streets in the town centre called 'Shakespeare's'. If you go into the Ladies'…'

'Potter!'

'And cast Lumos, a door will appear into McNair's, which is a very nice café.' Harry smiled as Draco relaxed. The blonde sighed, sitting up.

'I'll be in there at four, then,' he said gently. 'Oaf here can sit out in the muggle restaurant.'

'Qu'est ce qu'avez-vous m'appelé?!' 4 the boy snorted, realising through his slight knowledge of English that his abusive senior had just insulted him. Again.

'Right,' Harry said, nodding slowly to himself, as if forcing the time and date into his brain, which was screaming 'Ginny!', whilst trying to ignore the rest of his essence which was howling 'Draco!'. 'Thursday, Four P.M.'

'Try to be somewhat on time, Potter,' Draco said, swinging his legs inside the car and sliding like an Adder into the driver's seat. The engine roared to life. Draco lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave, before pushing sunglasses up his nose as the car spun with a screech and snarled its way down the country lane at alarming speed.

A huge weight lifted off Harry's chest as it went, but the heavy guilt that was lodging itself in his heart somewhat compensated for it.

'Just a meeting with an old school mate,' he muttered to himself, kicking a stone and slouching off towards his portkey. 'just going to chat about old times. S'going to be fine.' As Harry reached the stile that led to the small copse where his portkey (a purple knitted mitten) was waiting for him, he felt himself looking back down on the village and lanes meandering out of it like some scrappy spider's web. He searched the horizon for a speeding red flash, but saw none. He shook his head, hopping over the gate and trudging towards his destination. Why hadn't he just chucked in training and jumped in that car? Yes, it would have been tempestuously rash… but he wouldn't feel so utterly abandoned. That, he decided mentally, would have been worth the cost of missing yet another few laps chasing a test snitch.

1  
Alair- I'm SO very sorry that I'm late! I couldn't understand the Cashier. My English is TERRIBLE!  
Draco- Stupid child. And after I paid for a private tutor for you…  
Alair- Please forgive me!

2  
Draco- Alair, give me my Diary.

3  
Alair- Eh? Potter? Is it THE Potter?  
Draco- Shut up (very rude form)

4  
Alair- What did you just call me?!


End file.
